


Under Wraps

by Imbecamiel



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: (actually getting thrown off buildings by killer robots hurts), (but everything's okay in the end), (quite a lot in fact), Angst (of the light variety), Birthdays, Character injury (also of the light variety), F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Romance (also of the light variety?), Romantic Fluff, Sweet, birthday fic, buckynat - Freeform, everyone is cute and nothing hurts, it's a pretty light story, you get the point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 18:45:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9506954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imbecamiel/pseuds/Imbecamiel
Summary: Even superspies have birthdays. SECRET birthdays.AKA, Bucky has a unique approach to many things, including wrapping gifts. But hey, it’s the thought that counts, right?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cairistiona](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cairistiona/gifts).



> For Cairistiona’s birthday! The guys in my household have an _interesting_ idea of appropriate birthday wrapping paper. When I showed her this picture of the way they'd wrapped my sister's present –
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> – she said that it looked very much like something Bucky would do. And since her birthday was coming up, I decided it should become an actual story.
> 
> This is set at some indefinite point in the future when no one is on the run and everyone’s made peace and getting along reasonably well. (LET ME HAVE MY FANTASIES, OKAY.) MCU-based, but draws somewhat upon comics canon, particularly where Bucky and Natasha’s past is concerned—i.e. that they met and had a brief relationship while he was the Winter Soldier. As [others have pointed out](http://ntashas.tumblr.com/post/155630308861/okay-correct-me-if-im-wrong-but-theres-still-a), even if we take MCU timeline/birthdates at face value, there would have been time for them to have met when she was in her early twenties (not underage) but before she joined SHIELD.
> 
> So yes, taking liberties with canon of all varieties, but it’s for the sake of happy fun. Just go with it? ^^

“It’s great. Beyond great. She’s going to love it.” Steve closed the box and handed it back to Bucky.

 

Despite the encouraging words, the lingering troubled look in his eyes utterly failed to reassure Bucky. “What is it? What’s wrong with it?”

 

“Nothing!” Steve’s eyes widened in genuine surprise, which _was_ a little reassuring. “Honest, Buck, it’s not the gift. I was just... You’re sure about the date? I thought Natasha’s birthday was in November.”

 

“I’m sure.”

 

It wasn’t the birthday in her files, not one she’d assigned to any of the cover identities she’d constructed, not the one she gives when anyone asks. But while his memory is not as dependable as he might wish these days... this is one area where he’s sure he can trust it.

 

Steve gave him a considering look, as if something in Bucky’s complicated thoughts had made it into his expression. But in the end he let it go. “Well, then I don’t doubt you. I wonder why she never told any of the rest of us that the date in her file isn’t her real birthday.”

 

“You know how she is. Stuff’s just... complicated.”

 

With Natasha, it always had been. But in some things complicated was _worth it_. Even when it was dangerous.

 

It was sheer coincidence that her birthday had fallen during those brief, intense weeks they’d had together. Her masters had assigned her a date, her initiation day, a birth into a new life, shared by all the young Widows trained in the Red Room. But this was her _real_ birthday. He still remembered the glint in her eyes, the little smile that had tugged at her lips as she told him. It had added an extra taste of defiance to their secret, celebrating a birthday, even if it was only in words and snatched moments together.

 

At the time he didn’t know his right name much less his own birthday, but this had been something that was _theirs,_ a little piece of truth that no one could take away. Until HYDRA found out about them, not long after that, and yanked even the memory of her existence from his brain. But they hadn’t been able to erase her from his mind forever, and the echo of that pain wasn’t enough to taint the memories of her. That day... that day had been good.

 

“I think there are some things she just wants to keep to herself.” Shrugging, Bucky added, “And for other things it’s more reflex than deliberate at this point.”

 

“Fair enough.” Steve smiled wryly. “I guess it’s kind of reassuring to know that even with all the information she made public when she released those SHIELD files, she’s not entirely an open book.”

 

“Yeah.” Bucky slid the box back into the larger, padded box it’d come in for safekeeping.

 

“You planning to wrap that before tonight?” Steve asked, watching him fold it shut again.

 

“Uh. Yes?”

 

Steve smirked. “You hadn’t even thought about it, had you?”

 

“I was too busy trying to figure out what to get. Hadn’t gotten that far.” He looked around the barren room, which had been designated for his use when business necessitated an overnight stay in the SHIELD facility. No inspiration was forthcoming. “I don’t suppose you...”

 

Steve snorted. “I don’t keep any more stuff around here than you do, pal. You could try asking Agent Hernandez.”

 

“Hernandez?”

 

“Joe Hernandez. In Intelligence. He’s very enthusiastic about Christmas. He’s got to have some wrapping paper around yet.”

 

“Christmas?” Bucky frowned. “I am not using _leftover_ Christmas paper for her birthday. That’s worse than no wrapping paper.”

 

“Maybe.” Steve shrugged. “Not all of it looks _really_ Christmas-like, though. If you want anything else, you’d have to ask around. No idea where you’d get any around here.” A notification dinged on his phone and Steve grimaced. “If I don’t get going I’m gonna be late. This meeting’s going to be bad enough as it is.”

 

“Which is it this time, budget or sensitive diplomatic issues?”

 

“Budget. Joys of leadership...”

 

“Wouldn’t want to trade you on that.” Bucky pulled a face. “Good luck.”

 

“You too. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” Steve clapped him on the shoulder.

 

As the door clicked shut behind him, Bucky sighed. His eyes swept the room again in hopes that something helpful might’ve materialized in the last few seconds. No such luck.

 

 _Ask around._ Yeah, he could do that. And explain to half the base what he needed, why, and who it was for. Or he could... improvise.

 

For the last couple of days, while Steve had been dealing with the joys of leadership, Bucky had been dealing with other joys of bureaucracy. If he was going to be involved in joint missions with SHIELD and utilizing SHIELD weaponry, he had been informed, he would need to pass their field qualifications.

 

It wasn’t as if they didn’t _know_ what he was capable of. He knew it was ridiculous and the agents assigned to the assessment knew it was ridiculous, but ultimately paperwork trumped common sense. Still, it wasn’t as if there was any doubt he’d pass, and there were worse ways to waste a day. By the end they had all the right numbers in all the right boxes and he had a bunch of targets full of holes. Literally had them in his hands, and he still wasn’t sure why, but when the agent had handed them to him after duly recording the results, he’d taken them.

 

They’d been sitting in a stack on the shelf in the room’s tiny closet ever since. For most of his adult life—before and after HYDRA—basic necessities had come dear. Throwing away anything that might prove useful, even if he didn’t have a potential use in mind, went against every instinct ingrained in him. Now, it turned out, he just might have found that use after all.

 

He pulled the stack down and flipped through them until he came to one with silhouettes of a hostage taker and human shield. Huh. That might work. He’d only shot up the one area, which meant most of it was still perfectly good paper. Not what most people might use for the job, but it was paper. He was using it to wrap something. Therefore: wrapping paper.

 

The actual wrapping part, once he obtained some tape, was a little more complicated than he originally anticipated. He’d never been exactly an expert in the field of gift wrapping, and for some reason that had never been among the skills HYDRA had seen fit to hone. Still, he thought as he surveyed the finished product, he wasn’t half bad at it. The corners were crisp, the bullet holes were strategically—almost decoratively—placed, and the box was properly concealed. It looked... like a Natasha kind of present. Unique. More _her_ than standard birthday paper would’ve been anyway.

 

Mission accomplished.

 

With a satisfied nod, he gathered up the present and the gear bag where he’d stowed the few personal belongings he’d brought with him.

 

Everything was in order. He’d already arranged to hitch a ride to New York with an agent who was headed that way. He would drop his stuff off at his apartment, then walk over to the market to pick up some fresh bread and the few other perishable ingredients needed for the dinner he had planned. He’d have everything ready long before Natasha arrived.

 

If she’d had any suspicions that his dinner invitation was anything more than eagerness to see her again after missions had kept them apart for weeks, she hadn’t let on. She hadn’t said much about her current mission either, but he’d heard how tired she was. A quiet dinner in would be perfect. Private, no big fuss, just time for the two of them to reconnect.

 

His mind was still on his plans for the day ahead when he rounded the corner and walked straight into someone. Neither of them actually lost their footing, but it was a near thing. Too busy muttering apologies and trying to help gather dropped files, he didn’t register who it was beyond _female, not a field agent_ in the initial flurry.

 

“Sorry. Wasn’t watching where—“ He looked up and, startled, paused in the act of straightening the stack of papers he’d picked up. “Miss Potts?”

 

They’d met before, briefly, awkwardly—on his part, not hers—at Stark’s Christmas party. He was getting better at events like that, but by the time they’d been introduced he was tired, on edge, and constantly pulling back from losing himself in a comforting mental routine of threat assessment: nearest exit, who was armed, who might have combat training, objects that could serve as improvised weapons (in his hands or someone else’s), best route to... He hadn’t exactly been his charming, social best.

 

It seemed he was destined to do no better on second impression.

 

Even in the wake of their collision, she managed to look nearly as unruffled as ever. She smiled at him as she rose, a few files in one hand and his dropped present in the other. “Mr. Barnes! Or is it Sergeant?”

 

“It’s—just Bucky, please.”

 

“Of course, if you’ll call me Pepper. It’s good to see you again.”

 

“Likewise. I didn’t expect to run into you here.” He winced even as he said it. “Literally. Sorry about that.”

 

She laughed. “Please, I wasn’t watching where I was going any more than you were. No harm done.”

 

“Are you here with Tony?”

 

“No, I just came to finalize the details on a couple of StarkTech contracts for new SHIELD equipment. Tony’s off in California this week, so I’m forced to brave the lions’ den entirely unescorted.”

 

“I didn’t mean—“ He rubbed at the back of his neck, offering an apologetic smile. “I know you’re busy, running the company. Didn’t realize some of that business brought you here, is all.”

 

“Speaking of business versus personal—I’ll trade you.” Gesturing toward the papers he still held, she held out the gift she’d retrieved.

 

“Thanks.” He turned it over, checking for dents. It seemed to have come through unscathed.

 

“I hear Natasha’s flying home tonight. Welcome home gift?” Pepper asked.

 

He looked up, startled. That was... teasing. She was teasing him. New and tentative as his relationship with Natasha was, he wasn’t surprised that she knew about it. Avengers and SHIELD agents were worse than high school when it came to gossip. But the fact that she’d tease him was—good? Probably wasn’t too annoyed with him, anyway.

 

“Something like that.” Looking at it now, his earlier confidence was draining away. “It looks stupid, doesn’t it. I need to get some better paper.”

“Not at all!” Pepper hastened to reassure him. “It’s—sweet. And very _you_.”

 

Bucky blinked. “I—Um.” He vaguely remembered being good at these conversations, once upon a time. It had been a very, very long time since a pretty woman had referred to him as _sweet_. He couldn’t tell if she was being serious. “Thanks.”

 

His expression must’ve given away his doubt.

 

“I mean it.” She tilted her head, studying the package. “Hostage taker full of holes, human shield completely intact... Who wouldn’t want to receive a gift where the wrapping itself says, ‘If anyone ever threatens you, I’ll shoot them and not you’? Seems like a pretty good way to show that you care to me.”  

 

“Pretty sure Natasha’s used to doing all her own shooting,” he pointed out. Still, he couldn’t help smiling.

 

“Just because you _can_ do something yourself doesn’t mean it’s not nice to have help.”

 

Any reply he might’ve made was cut off as an alarm began to sound. It was the one that meant “urgent stuff is happening, get out of people’s way” but not “we are under immediate attack, all hands on deck.” He was very well versed in alarms these days. SHIELD had a lot of them.

 

Pepper, not so much. She looked worried. “What—“

 

His phone rang. He muttered a curse when he saw the caller ID. Agent Muller.

 

“You left yet?” Muller asked.

 

“No, still here.”

 

“Good. Get down to the armory. We’re going to need you on this.”

 

“How bad?”

 

“Not sure yet.” Muller sounded distracted. Rapid-fire conversation was audible in the background. “We’ve got some robots of unknown origin in upstate New York. Still trying to figure out where they came from and where they’re headed.”

 

Bucky nodded. “On my way.”

 

He hung up, then glanced down at the present in a half-second’s indecision. He could leave it in his locker, but he wouldn’t have it tonight if he had to come all the way back here for it. He could also stow it in the quinjet, but experience argued against bringing anything difficult to replace into battle. Quinjets had a nasty habit of getting destroyed from time to time.

 

“I can take that for you.” Seeing his look of incomprehension, Pepper added, “I’m on my way to Stark Tower now. I’ll drop it off at your apartment.”

 

Spending as much time as he did among spies and SHIELD agents, it shouldn’t surprise him anymore when people knew things about his life. Still, it took his brain a moment to switch from _wait, she knows where I live?_ to _of course she knows where I live, she’s Pepper Potts, she’s probably got the director of the CIA beat for the confidential information she’s got access to._

 

Not that his apartment’s location was a secret, exactly. It just wasn’t publicly advertised, outside a select group of people. A group that apparently included Pepper Potts.

 

He shook his head. “I can’t ask you to—“

 

“You’re not asking. I’m offering. And since it’s practically on my way in any case...”

 

She held out her hand and he handed her the package, more out of reflexive politeness than a conscious decision.

 

She was right, though. If it were any other friend or coworker, it would’ve been nothing but pigheaded pride to refuse. It was just that this was _Pepper,_ who was important and busy, and it felt ridiculously inappropriate to ask her to run minor errands on his behalf. But she had offered. And he couldn’t see any better options at the moment.

 

“Thank you. I—I appreciate it. I’ll text the manager so he knows it’s okay to let you in.”

 

“Excellent.” She made a shooing motion. “Now quit looking so worried. I’ve got this. Go. Do what you need to do.”

 

He went.

 

Honestly, what was his life these days?

 

-0-0-0-

 

Bucky hunched his shoulders and tugged his coat more tightly around him. He couldn’t do it up properly with his right arm in a sling and it kept sliding off his shoulder. Maybe the entryway wasn’t particularly drafty, maybe it had been only a short walk from the car to the building, maybe he had thoroughly dried out by the time he was released from the infirmary, but he was still _cold._

 

At last, the elevator doors opened with a soft _ding_ and a squeal of protesting metal _._

 

He grunted and limped inside. Least it was working. He hadn’t used it more than a handful of times since moving in, but it would’ve been typical for it to be out the one time he really wanted it.

 

Slapping the button for his floor on the way in, he leaned heavily against the back wall and closed his eyes as he waited for the doors to grumble their way shut. He was tempted to just give in to gravity and let himself slide down to sit on the floor, but if he did he’d probably still be sitting there, riding the elevator up and down, by the time Natasha arrived. That would be... embarrassing.

 

A bumping jolt as the elevator started its upward journey made him inhale sharply. Yeah, he’d be feeling every one of those bruises for a while, even with his enhanced healing. Still, it could’ve been worse.

 

An attack on New York that didn’t involve NYC proper had been a refreshing change of pace. Kind of. And—largely because it’d originated in a comparatively low-population area—they’d managed to stop it before much damage had been done. No Avengers or SHIELD agents had actually been killed, though they were still waiting on final reports of civilian injuries or deaths.

 

He had, technically, had worse days.

 

The fact that his bar for “worst day ever” had been set exceptionally high, however, did not prevent him from appreciating the misery of more run-of-the-mill misfortunes. If being repeatedly tossed into gigantic snow banks, off one building, and through several windows while defending Syracuse from would-be killer robots could be called that.

 

His injuries were more uncomfortable than serious, at least. Bruised ribs—bruised everything, it felt like—and minor lacerations. The worst of it was his right shoulder, badly wrenched in an awkward landing. It would heal, but he’d been sternly warned to keep the arm in a sling and avoid moving it too much for a couple of days.

 

Annoying, but fairly standard fare as risks of the job went. He’d been more upset at being repeatedly buried in the piles of snow so deep he’d never have imagined they could exist outside a mountain range. Syracuse had had some massive snowfalls recently, and while it made for softer landings than concrete, by the end of the fight even the heat generated by exertion couldn’t compensate. He’d been shivering, half numb, and soaked through. All the blankets, dry clothes, and hot showers in the world couldn’t make him feel really warm after that.

 

But he’d been released from the infirmary. Figuring out where the robots had come from and why was someone else’s job for the time being. He was home. And Natasha would be here in... He checked the time on his phone. Just over an hour.

 

Exiting the elevator, he limped down the hall toward his apartment. He might still have time to make dinner—except now he didn’t have half the ingredients he needed. And even if he had, it would’ve been a challenge to pull off with only one functioning hand.

 

He stopped in front of the door, patting his coat for several nerve-wracking seconds before realizing that, of course, the keys were still in the right pocket. He twisted to reach it, gritting his teeth on muttered curses as his ribs and shoulder violently protested the movement, and finally managed to—thank God—get them out without dropping them as he fumbled. He nudged the door shut behind him with his foot and slid his coat off to hang on the hook beside it.

 

Natasha wouldn’t object to delivery from the Indian place down the street. It wouldn’t be the special meal he’d planned, but the time together was the important part. She might shrug off the importance of celebrations these days, but _it mattered._ He’d missed enough time, enough special occasions. He wasn’t missing this one.

 

When he turned, he saw the package sitting on his table. He’d half forgotten Pepper’s offer to deliver it. But there it was, one thing in this day that’d gone more right than he could’ve planned for.

 

There was a crisp square of white paper leaning against it. Unfolding it, he found a note in Pepper’s neat handwriting informing him that if he arrived home late, he could call Ricci’s at the number she provided, mention her name to Pierre, and the restaurant would deliver anything he wanted.

 

His eyebrows rose. He’d never been to Ricci’s, but it was definitely not the kind of place that included delivery among its usual services. Not for just any of its customers, anyway.

 

As if predicting his guilty thoughts that she’d gone to far too much trouble on his behalf, she finished, “And before you start thinking that you couldn’t possibly, I would like to point out that I have been watching the news coverage. You’ve more than earned a nice night off.”

 

 _Earned._ Would he ever feel like he was doing more than treading water, trying to keep his head above the sea of red in his past? But tonight he was tired, too tired for complicated analysis and much too tired for sensible analogies. If someone tossed him a life preserver... he’d take it.

 

By the time Natasha arrived, he had a steady fire burning in the fireplace and had just sent the delivery person on his way with a generous tip. He rose stiffly from where he’d crouched to add more wood to the fire and turned to greet her. His eyes widened at seeing her left arm in a sling and the dark bruise on her forehead.

 

“What—“

 

Taking in his battered appearance in turn, her weary chuckle turned into genuine laughter. His own initial worry faded, and he couldn’t help joining her.

 

“We are quite the matched set, aren’t we.” She shook her head. “Come on, we can trade stories later. That food smells _amazing_ and I’ve had nothing but protein bars today.”

 

It was a good thing they both had a sense of humor because dinner with one functional arm apiece was less than elegant. At least pasta was easier than, say, steak would’ve been. And it turned out to taste every bit as good as it smelled.

 

Afterward they settled onto the couch side by side. The glasses of wine they would otherwise have had were nixed, considering neither of them was supposed to be mixing alcohol with the painkillers they were currently on, but it hardly mattered. Between hard-earned exhaustion, full stomachs, and a warm fire, alcohol wasn’t really needed to complete the picture of relaxed contentment.

 

It wasn’t passion and excitement, wasn’t exactly what he’d envisioned, but somehow it just might be better. He felt an ache in his chest at the longing thought that he could gladly live like this for the rest of his life... and the nagging fear that it was too much, too good to last. Far more than he deserved.

 

But knowing too well how fragile happiness could be had also taught him better than to let tomorrow’s fears rob today too easily. They were here. Together. And if neither of them was entirely safe or sound, they were closer to it than seemed probable, given the lives they lived.

 

He hated to disturb the peace of the moment, Natasha curled up beside him, her feet tucked up on the couch as she leaned against his left shoulder, staring into the fire... but if he didn’t give her her gift now, they were both going to doze off before he could.

 

“I got something for you.”

 

She gave a sleepy hum and arched an eyebrow at him.

 

“Hold on a minute, I’ll get it.”

 

He levered himself out of the altogether too soft and comfortable couch with a minimum of groaning, trying not to jostle her too much in the process. By the time he returned, present in hand, she was gingerly stretching her spine, looking a little more awake.

 

He settled in again and handed her the present. Her expression was unreadable as she brushed a thumb over the holes in the paper. He chewed on his lip. _Knew I should’ve gotten something better to wrap it in..._

 

“Bit of a sloppy grouping for you, isn’t it?”

“Slop—“ He was tempted to try explaining Pepper’s theory, but somehow it didn’t seem to make as much sense now as it did when she was saying it. “Do you know how far away I was? And it was windy, too.”

 

“Was it? I take it back, then.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Only teasing, milii moi.” She carded her fingers through his hair and cupped the side of his face with her hand.

 

“Sloppy,” he muttered, leaning into her touch. “I’ll have you know I set a new record for the range.” She hummed in good-natured agreement and leaned in for a kiss that threatened to make him forget himself entirely. When at last she pulled back, he cleared his throat. “You going to open your present?”

 

She did, tossing the paper into the fire with a practiced flick. His gaze darted anxiously between her face and the box as she eased it open to reveal the necklace. Silver tracery surrounded a closed flower bud. It was delicate, understated. The kind of thing Natasha would wear when she was being herself—or as close to it as she let herself be—not just for a cover.

 

“It’s a desert rose,” he explained. “Tough. And even when it looks like it’s done blooming...” He dipped a finger into the glass he’d set on the coffee table and allowed a few drops of water to fall onto the dried bud. Slowly, the petals began to unfurl, revealing a tiny, perfect flower. “They say it’ll come back and bloom again even thirty years after it’s cut off the plant.”

 

Natasha gently brushed a finger over the soft petals that had moments before been a hard, protective shell. He wished he could tell what she was thinking, if she understood what he was trying to say. About her. About them.

 

When she looked up, her expression was soft.

 

“I’m glad we didn’t have to wait that long,” she said.

 

“Long enough as it was,” he murmured, voice rough.

 

“We’ll just have to make up for lost time.” She pulled him closer. Their foreheads touched. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

 

“Happy birthday, Tasha.”

 

He moved closer for another kiss.

 

Somehow, he thought absently, he wasn’t at all cold anymore.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Maybe shipping!lite, but believe it or not it’s by far the most romance-heavy thing I’ve written. I’m still not entirely sure if I’ve managed to do it right. XD
> 
> The re-blooming flower necklace is a real thing, by the way. No, I don’t have one myself, but I’d love to one day. (If you’re curious, you can see video and some of the designs they’ve made [here](https://www.thegrommet.com/the-blessing-flower) and [here](https://www.etsy.com/shop/TheBlessingFlower).)


End file.
